The Process of Getting Up
by sleepinnude
Summary: "But lately, waking up and getting up were two separate events." Of the Routine series. So much sugary, fluffy Arthur/Eames.


**Title: **The Process of Getting Up  
**Inspiration: ** Lazy mornings and more 'Routine'  
**Disclaimer: **Look, if I owned either Eames or Arthur I would not be writing this little piece. I would be living it out with one of them. XD  
**Notes: **I cannot be held responsible for any cases of diabetes brought on by the ultra sugary sweet, fluffy cuddliness that is this fic. **  


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Judging from the angle of the sun (shining _directly_ into his eyes) it was somewhere around seven-thirty in the morning. Normally he would wait another half-hour or so before waking up,  
getting up. But lately, waking up and getting up were two separate events. Not before. Before, it was wake up, have a brief stretch, jump out of bed and get about the day. Now it was wake up, yawn, stretch, grin, purr, yawn, cuddle, whisper, kiss...sleep, wake up, stretch, kiss, get up.

He was currently on the "stretch" part of this particular sequence. His back arched with the effort, arms raising above his head and waist twisting to crack the slight kinks of a dreamless sleep. A soft, breathy sound of his movement huffed from the front of his throat before his muscles melted, dropping him back on the mattress. Heavy sigh pulled from him, Arthur settled back down comfortably, eyes closing and lips curving into a lazy grin. Why get up, honestly? Dream work paid well, very well, even if it wasn't legal, in the strictest of terms. Because of that, he had nowhere to be, no deadlines, no office waiting, no boss to kiss up to... Free to loiter and linger and stretch

"Like a fuckin' cat," comes a mumble, muffled against a sleep-softened pillow.

He turned, eyes looking to his bed-partner, grinning. Eames' face was entirely buried into the cotton, eyes closed and speech barely intelligible through the fabric and slumber-roughness and accent thicker than molasses in winter. Something like worn-out elastic moved through Eames' shoulders, making them shift and slide bare skin. His hair was ruffled beyond any help other than a shower and Arthur couldn't help but think it endearing. Inhibition dampened from sleep and comfort, he had to fight the suddenly strong urge to buck his head up against Eames as if asking to be pet like the cat that he apparently was. Instead, he just short of unhinged his jaw with a yawn.

Eames, however, proved himself a hypocrite and took the role of cat, wriggling to close the warm space between them, laying his head over Arthur's chest. His body pressed along Arthur's side, one arm flung over his stomach, one leg tucked between both of the Point Man's. His nose grazed up and down over the soft, worn material of the shirt Arthur wore to bed. And Arthur couldn't help it: he chuckled and brought a hand up to skim through the fuzzy mess that was Eames' bedhead. "Good morning," he sighed out, eyes drifting closed again.

"Mmm, mornin'," Eames returned, releasing a long breath afterward. The Forger seemed content to just stay lying in bed, cuddling. Arthur made a mental note to remember this moment and use it the next time Cobb shot him a look laden with humor and called _him_ the woman in the relationship.

"Comfortable, are we?" He asked with a teasing note chasing the edge of his tone. Eames mumbled something that sounded a lot like "fuck off" before taking his hold around Arthur a little tighter and, judging by the way his breathing thickened and evened out, falling back asleep. A fond smile played over his lips as his fingers took longer, slower strokes through Eames' hair.

After a few moments Arthur was nearly back in dreamland (or no-dreamland, as it were) himself. But he soon felt Eames start to shift over him, edging himself further up; felt Eames' lips trailing over his collarbone, up his neck. He hummed happily, tilting his head back into the pillow so more of his neck was exposed. Eames seemed to be finished with that stretch of skin though as he dropped his lips onto Arthur's, hands pressed on either side of the Point Man's head to support himself. Arthur couldn't help but arch and shift so his front was flush to Eames', caught in the cocoon of warmth trapped between Eames' body and the covers and the mattress.

Arthur broke the kiss first, grinning up lazily, fingers tracing and skipping over the bare skin of the man above him. Eames gave a rough chuckle and rested his forehead against Arthur's. "Good morning," he murmured, lips moving against Arthur's and the Point Man could tell he was smiling just from the touch. "Time to get up, is it?" He asked, accent sown thinner through the words then before.

Arthur groaned and hitched his shoulders in opposite directions. His face went slack from the pleasurable crack that followed before the eyes opened and tilted to see the clock on the side-table. Focus on the totem set ahead and then shifting, red plastic edges going fuzzy in favor for neon red numbers. A few minutes to eight. "Too early," Arthur mumbled, feeling every bit like a little kid trying to delay the school morning. A habit he had lost sometime around becoming an adult, becoming a Point Man. Because then it had been up far earlier than this and to bed far later because there had been so much work to do, information to gather. That had been before the generous payday of Inception though. And Eames; it had been before Eames as well.

Eames laughed again, bending his elbows to lower himself, giving Arthur's chest the pressure and weight of his own. "I'll be taking first shower, hmm?" He said, running his nose along Arthur's jaw. And then faster than a spinning top, Eames' weight and heat were gone. Arthur watched him walk around the bed, pause at the footboard. Grab the covers and give them a sharp jerk. Cold air hit him like shock after the delicious heat he had been enveloped before. He made a loud noise of protest that was met only with dwindling, transient laughter as Eames disappeared into the bathroom.

Huffing slightly, still a bit put-out, Arthur reluctantly swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. The shower started in the bathroom so he knew he had something like five to seven minutes before Eames was out. Yawning, he let himself flop back onto the bed, eyes shutting and arms spread. Content to delay getting up until it was his turn for the shower.

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**AN: **Hope you enjoyed it! Please review and let me know. ^^  
-ProbDef


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